


Dragon Age Fangasms (or what our favourites get up to when nobody's watching)

by MiaCousland



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, F/M, Fighting whilst skating, Gangs, International Fanworks Day 2017, Lyrium Tattoos, Rollerblades & Rollerskates, Skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 15:22:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9767906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCousland/pseuds/MiaCousland
Summary: A couple of drabbles about how my favourite characters from Dragon Age get all nerdy.





	

It was two o'clock in the morning in Hightown.  Hawke lay sleeping soundly on the bed behind Fenris as his toes hit the cold floor of the bedroom.  Creeping as quietly as he could, he peeked out of the window.  The stars illuminated the square outside his mansion with a dark glow and he could see that there were no patrols anywhere.  Of course, he knew that dark eyes would watch him from the deep shadows but the sword strapped to his back would ward them off.  If they dared try anything, they would feel a short burst of panic before his hand ripped through their chest.  

Fenris found himself getting very excited.  This was the time when he was able to escape and just be free for a while.  He stole down the stairs and crept towards the chest where he had hidden the bag that contained his quarry.  The hinge squeaked and he froze, listening for any sign that Hawke would awaken.  He heard nothing and opened it further to grab the bag.  He padded over to the door and quietly slipped out into the Kirkwall night.  He nearly ran to the market place, hugging his secret stash to his chest.  Excitement rippled through him.  The market place had no estates overlooking it and he valued his privacy.  There was no way he could have done this in the day time as there would have been too many people, and no way he could have told any of his associates about it.  The mocking would have been endless.  No, he chose to do this in secret where Varric or Anders wouldn't have seen him.

At last he arrived.  A quick glance told him the square was empty.  Padding rapidly down the stairs, he alighted on a bench and opened the small duffel bag.  There they were, shining up at him; his roller skates.  Hurriedly, he pulled them out of his bag and started strapping them to his feet.  The leather straps were well worn by now, and supple and comfortable as he pulled them on.  When he had finished binding his feet, he grinned down at his skates and wiggled his toes.  He set his feet down on the flagged floor of the market square and stood up.  A slight totter was expected and he pushed off.  Soon he was soaring around the open space of the large square.  The cool, night air of Kirkwall sang past his ears as he flew through the stillness, the only sound the roll of the metal wheels against the flagstones.  Fenris felt the cares of the day slip away from his shoulders, almost as if the passing air was whipping his troubles off into the night, one by one.  He switched to skating backwards and his hair streamed out across his face as he looked at where he was going.  Back to forward flying, he weaved in and out of the pillars where the merchants held their stalls throughout the day.  A wide smile broke across his face as he whipped through the night air.  He was happy. He felt free.

A glint of metal caught his eye as he sailed around.  Not halting in his skating, his senses knew that shadowy denizens waited to mug him.  They had obviously crawled up the back stairs as he had been distracted.  As he skated round, he counted them; one, two, three behind boxes ... four and five waited under the staircase.  He caught a glimpse of a red scarf tied round a helmet; Followers of She.  There was no way he could climb the stairs and get away; not with his skates on.  No, he realised with a wicked grin, he would have to fight them.  He was glad that he had kept his sword strapped to his back - usually he left it on the bench.  He could see one of them would be easy to pick off.  He would have to time it perfectly.  As he rounded the corner, his fingers reached up to the guard of his sword and with one swift movement, and without breaking his skating pace, he whipped the sword through the air and caught the would-be assassin in the face.  He hauled her over and she slid off the sword onto the floor.  The others took this as their cue to emerge from their hiding place.  However, with the speed and ballast Fenris had built up, his sword was swung and took two of their heads without breaking a sweat. He smiled darkly, his brow creasing and his teeth bared.  This was beautiful to him.  He bent down low and skated faster.  One stood in his way but his stomach soon spilled over the market floor with a cold splash.  He dropped to his knees screaming but on Fenris' next circuit round, his head was off with an expertly timed swing.  The blood looked black in the moonlight as it fountained out.  That left one.  Fenris' pride was piqued and he felt the anger fly along his lyrium tattoos.  The heat from them was immense but in the dark shadows of the marketplace, and with the speed he was flying along at, he knew how demonic he appeared.  He bore down on the last who stood dumbstruck, a look of terror holding his face frozen in fear.   With a roar, Fenris holstered his sword and skated directly at the last assassin.  The tattoos around his fists burned even brighter and the glow from them illuminated his face with a deadly light.  Using his hands as a puncture point, Fenris exploded into him, the speed carrying him through where the corpse had been standing.  He emerged on the other side and turned to see the two sides of the assassins fall apart slowly and slump to the ground.  He twirled on his skates and came to a complete stop, panting from the exertion.  He wore a smile of victory as he surveyed the remains of the party that had tried to take him down.  He was proud of what he had done but he needed to leave.  He sat down on the same bench and pulled his skates off, stuffing them into his bag.  

By now, from the exercise and the killing, Fenris was alive with energy.  Slowly his tattoos were fading but he was still ignited inside.  With a passionate grin, he turned his eyes towards Hightown and where Hawke slept.  Off he ran into the night.


End file.
